


Silent Night

by TC (thecollective)



Series: The Nights Between Us [2]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Cheating, Christmas Eve, F/M, Gentle Sex, Hypothermia, Naked Cuddling, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Quiet Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, abominable snowman, cuddling for warmth, ignores 2x12 and after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/TC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Christmas Eve, Ichabod and Abbie track a monster through the mountains. When the unexpected happens, things turn really cold for the pair. But then they turn really hot. </p><p>Basically, smut with feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jacksqueen16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksqueen16/gifts).



> This ignores everything after 2x12. And maybe even a few things before it. It is a sequel to "Swear Not By the Moon" but the two do not have to be read together (although if you're looking for smut, that one is full of it too).
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own, Sleepy Hollow or any of its characters. If I did, season 2 would have been very different. 
> 
> WARNINGS: There is no communication between either party before they engage in sexual intercourse. However, the act is entirely consensual. I'm tagging this as a warning in case the lack of communication makes you uncomfortable, and also as a reminder to ALWAYS discuss what you are/are not comfortable with before doing the horizontal tango. Oh, and mind the tags, please.

“I find that your denim trousers do not provide adequate insulation,” complained Ichabod. 

Abbie sighed. It wasn’t her fault that Jenny had taken Ichabod’s lack of twenty-first century fashion as a personal crusade, disposing of the man’s pre-nineteenth century clothing and replacing them with “real clothes”—jeans, leather jackets, and even the odd Rolling Stones vintage tee. “You know you like how his ass looks in jeans,” Jenny had said with a knowing smirk. 

Abbie should never have told her sister about what had happened in that house on Halloween. Or about how she didn’t regret it, even if it had changed things between her and her partner. Or about how good Ichabod looked naked. 

The thought of Ichabod’s pale and toned torso make Abbie shiver—and it wasn’t because they were currently hiking through a foot of snow in late December. 

“I’m sorry that twenty-first century clothing isn’t good enough for Your Lordship, but it was the jeans or go naked. Your choice.”

Ichabod huffed. “Let’s just find this, as you say, ‘abominable’ snowman, and destroy him so I can return to the comfortable warmth of my own abode.”

Abbie rolled her eyes. If he was complaining about the cold now, what would he think when they got further up the mountain? She could almost hear his sarcastic remarks about how the eighteenth century weather was more favorable than this, and then it would lead to an inevitable argument about global warming. Again. 

“Trust me,” Abbie said, “this wasn’t how I wanted to spend Christmas Eve either.”

“Indeed,” he said. He sounded tense. He often did nowadays. 

She sighed. With Moloch’s demise and Henry’s disappearance, they’d been able to breathe deep and relax for the first time since they’d met. Abbie had assumed that the Cranes would work out their marital issues in time for the holidays and that she’d be able to stay in her pajamas and catch up on Orange is the New Black, but Crane had shown up at the archives late one night and had slept there every night since. 

Apparently the downfall of a Dark Lord didn’t automatically fix a marriage. 

(Deep down, there was a not-so-small part of her that was glad that Katrina wasn’t around.) 

They climbed in silence, and every once in a while Crane would stop and read the forest for signs of the monster. It was ass-freezing cold, and Abbie thought about her electric blanket with a pang of longing. So much for a lazy Christmas with hot cocoa and Netflix. The snow got deeper the higher they hiked, until it neared Abbie’s knees, and each step was a struggle. “Crane,” she said, “this isn’t going to work. We need to find another way up the mountain.” 

He was about ten feet ahead of her, and he turned to look at her. She melted a little, the way she had every time he fixated his icy blue eyes on her. Truth be told, the last time he’d looked at her like that, they’d been joined at the pelvis. Literally. “What do you recommend, Lieutenant?” 

“I don’t know, but this isn’t working.” She gestured to her legs. “I’m gonna freeze before we find this damn snowman.”

He stared at her legs for a moment too long. Abbie wondered if he was remembering that time she’d had her legs wrapped around him…no, she wouldn’t let herself think about that. 

“Quite right, Lieutenant,” Ichabod said. “Well, let us find this ‘foul beastie’ as you call it tomorrow? We can return to the mountain better prepared and perhaps…” Ichabod stopped to smirk at her. “Perhaps you’ll find attire better suited to the winter climature.” 

Oh, she was gonna smack him the instant she got warm enough to extend her arm far enough to reach him.

A growl reverberated through the forest, so deep that it shook the trees. It shook the tree directly to the right of Abbie. “Watch out for the dwx tsidla’!” yelled Crane. 

“The wha—“ and then Abbie was engulfed in snow. All the snow that had been accumulating in the branches above her plummeted her to the ground, covering her in a blanket of snow. Or, she thought bitterly, it was more like being covered in a frozen concrete slab. She flapped her arms, attempting vainly to free herself from her new ice prison. The tips of her fingers breached the open air and the bitter cold stung; she felt Crane’s hand brush against hers and she clung to that touch like a lifeline. He gripped her fingers for a half-second, and then began to dig around her. She helped as much as she could, but she could hardly feel her limbs from the cold. 

Crane dug her free and pulled her into his arms. Her teeth chattered. “You will be alright, Lieutenant,” he promised her. “You will be alright.”

“Too…damn…cold,” she chattered. “Must…leave.”

“Yes, quite right. Let us head toward your vehicle. Can you walk?”

She shook her head no.

Without a word, he lifted her into his arms and began to walk down the mountain. They heard another growl, from further up the mountain. Well, at least the monster was moving away from them. She shivered, unable to control her body in the onslaught of the cold. Crane walked faster and Abbie cursed the damn abominable snowman. Well, if she got pneumonia and had to be on bed rest, then at least she could watch Netflix. 

Though she was huddled in Crane’s arms, she couldn’t feel them. She couldn’t feel much of anything, actually, aside from the shivers that wracked so violently that Crane almost dropped her a few times. 

“Lieutenant?” said Crane. “Are you alright?”

Abbie looked at him and said, “Are we at the haunted house?”

“Of what ‘haunted house’ do you speak?”

“Take me to the house.” Why wouldn’t he take her? She remembered being warm in the house, so warm, in the midst of tangled legs and bodies. Why didn’t they ever talk about what had happened?

“Talk about what?” asked Crane. He sounded surprised. Why was he surprised?

“You called me Abigail.” Abbie. He had moaned her name. Abbie. 

Crane said nothing.

“Abigail,” she said. “You called me Abigail.”

His feet never slowed, but she felt his arms tighten around her, the pressure squeezing her ribs together. It didn’t hurt, but she was so cold she probably wouldn’t have felt it anyway. “I call you ‘Lieutenant’ out of respect for your position in the gendarme,” he said. He was a bit breathless, like his words were snowflakes that drifted away in the bitter night air. 

“Gen. Gen. Gendarme,” she muttered with a giggle, “’s funny. ’s funny word.” Her words began to slur together. 

“It is French in origin.”

“Funny. French.” Her tongue felt funny. Heavy. Like it was filled with cement. Her eyelids felt just as heavy, pressing down, down, slipping past her skin into an interminable void. The dark was comfortable, inviting, and she forgot how damn cold she was. She nestled in the dark and let herself forget. 

She didn’t remember Crane setting her down, so gently as if she were made of glass. She didn’t remember him shaking her, trying to get her to open her eyes, calling her name—her real name—with increasing levels of panic. She didn’t remember him pressing his fingers to her wrist, checking her pulse. She didn’t remember Crane stumbling through the woods, cradling her frozen body, as he headed toward what (hopefully) would be a shelter. She didn’t remember the cabin, or the fire he built to warm her. She didn’t remember him spreading what blankets he could find on the ground next to the fire, or tucking her close to him, nestling the warmth of his body around her frozen one. 

She did, however, remember waking up naked next to Crane. His skin was hot, and she hadn’t quite blinked away the fogginess of sleep because she wrapped herself around his warm skin and drifted back to sleep again. 

The next time she woke up, she was very aware that Crane’s body—his naked, very naked body, was pressed very closely to her just-as-naked body. Not wanting to have her partner wake up embarrassed, Abbie inched away from Crane, trying to get as much space between them as she could. The instant she moved, Crane’s arm snaked out, wrapped around her torso, and pulled her flush against him once more. “Don’t,” he whispered. “You’re still chilled to the touch.” His breath tingled her ear and she shivered. 

She said nothing, but leaned back into his warm embrace. It felt good. Safe. 

“Lieutenant?” Crane said.

“Mmmm,” she replied. 

“I thought…I thought,” Crane’s voice trailed off in uncertainty. “I…I am glad you are awake. For a time, I thought I would lose you.”

“Still got me,” she mumbled. Her eyes felt heavy again and she leaned her head backward, resting it against Ichabod’s chest. She was vaguely aware of him stroking her hair, gently, the way her mother had done when she was a child upset by a nightmare. “Sleep,” she mumbled. 

“Yes, Abigail. Sleep.”

The third time Abbie woke up, she was shivering again. Ichabod was no longer beside her, and her body convulsed, trying to generate the heat she was lacking. With shaking hands, she tried to wrap herself in the blankets, but then Ichabod was there, with his warm hands stilling her shivering body. “I’m sorry, Abigail,” he said. “The fire went out, and I had to rekindle it.” He climbed in beside her again. 

She noted that he was still naked. 

He pulled her to him, but this time they were front-to-front, and Abbie was alert enough to notice that Ichabod was shivering also. His torso was covered in goosebumps, and she let her fingers trail along them. His chest hair tickled and she thought about how sexy it looked next to his pale skin. (She told herself that it was the hypothermia, that she wasn’t thinking straight, but she knew it was a lie.) 

Her hands, splayed against his chest, reminded her of the first time she had touched him like this. Then, they’d had no choice, their free will taken by that cursed house. But now, her skin on his was a question of intent. 

The cabin was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire Ichabod had created. Even the mountain had stilled, as if nature itself had paused, waiting for Ichabod to answer Abbie’s unspoken question. He took her hand in his, lifted it to his lips, and gently kissed each one of her fingertips. 

She’d never been one for romance, but damn it all if this man didn’t melt her to the core. 

His lips moved to her jaw, and he pulled her closer as he kissed down her neck. Now that they were wrapped even more tightly together, Abbie could feel that the answer to her unspoken question ended in an exclamation point. 

This would be nothing like the first time they had sex, she decided. This was their choice. He was there because he wanted to be. There was no curse pushing them forward, forcing them to move faster. Although, she hadn’t really minded the fast part. But this time? This time she was going to learn every inch of Ichabod’s body. 

Starting with his shoulders. God, she loved his shoulders. Especially when he wore that damn coat of his. Now, she could do as she’d so often imagined and trace her fingers all along them, pressing kisses there also. 

Ichabod seemed determined to kiss every inch of her skin, and if that was the plan, she would go with it. The way that Ichabod’s hands rubbed her skin firmly in concentric circles told her that she must still feel cold to the touch. She used that as an excuse to throw one of her legs over his. He moaned at the sudden friction between their lower bodies, and he surged up against her. 

She wrapped one hand around his cock, and stroked it slowly. It was dripping in precum, and this time, she took her time explore him, testing what made him moan, what made his breath hitch. His breath puffed in heavy pants against her neck, and she could feel his heart pounding in his chest where it was pressed against hers. She moved her hand faster. 

“Abbie,” he moaned into her neck, “I—.”

She shut him up with a kiss. One kiss turned into another, and soon Abbie couldn’t tell where her lips ended and his began. Abbie felt as if every second since that Halloween night had been leading towards this—all the lingering looks, all the awkward silences, all the times that she looked at Katrina and she refused to forget what had happened between her and Ichabod. 

He bit her bottom lip, lightly, just the teeth grazing her mouth. Just enough to make her moan, make her squirm under his _very_ capable hands. His hands that were moving decidedly further south every time he kissed her. God, how many times had she imagined his hands like this, late at night when she was alone with a bottle of wine? 

Too many times.

(She’d made the mistake of telling Jenny how she loved her partner’s hands, and now her sister texted her pictures of his hands every chance she had to sneak a picture of them.)

Abbie sucked in a breath when one of his fingers flicked her clitoris. It would figure that a man out of place in time would be a better lover than half of her exes. He paused. Abbie knew this was Ichabod’s way of asking permission to continue. She didn’t want to use words. Words made this complicated. Instead, she put her hand over his and pressed two of his fingers inside of her. She bit back a moan as he slowly pumped his fingers into her. This, whatever it was between them, was fragile, like glass, and she was afraid that a sound, any sound, would break it.

They continued like that, with her stroking him and him stroking her, until they were both shaking with need. Ichabod rolled her to her back, gently. He didn’t need to tell her that he was still worried that she was too cold, the way he draped his body over hers said it for him. He bent down to kiss her again, and yeah, it might be cliche, but Abbie felt that every time they kissed, it felt like the first time they had met: two people brought together by some higher power and strange kind of destiny. 

(Abbie chose not to think of Katrina. Later, she would blame it on the hypothermia, even if it was a lie.)

Ichabod stopped kissing her to look her in the eye. His mouth formed the words to a question, but before he could speak, Abbie wrapped her legs around him and answered for him. They didn’t break eye contact as his cock entered her, and Abbie didn’t breathe until he was fully seated. He braced his arms on either side of her as he began to move, and she sighed in contentment.

(Had she ever really doubted that they would end up like this again?)

Bracketed between Ichabod’s limbs, she was finally warm again. She could feel every inch of her body, and the way it was pressed intimately against Ichabod’s was almost too much for her. She tucked her head between his neck and shoulder, wrapping her arms around his torso, holding onto him as if he were a life preserver. 

(Maybe he was a life preserver. He had, after all, saved her life.)

He moved slow, and she knew that neither one of them wanted it to end. Every push and pull was a step closer to completion, a step closer to maybe the last time they would touch each other like this. She arched up into him, her body telling him that it was okay. She sucked kisses into his skin, hoping that the marks she left behind would confess how long she had wanted this. 

Ichabod moved slightly faster, and with more intent, judging by the way he angledhis pelvis to hit just the right spot within her. He flicked his thumb over her clitoris, and Abbie saw stars. She didn’t have to tell him to keep going, to keep it _right there_. That’s why they were such a good team, because they just _knew_ how to work together. 

(And how to have mind-blowing sex, it seemed.)

She was moaning now, unable to keep herself quiet in the midst of such intense pleasure. Her nails scraped up and down Ichabod’s back, and he responded with a moan of his own. “ _Abigail_.” 

Her name, uttered in his voice so full of emotion, was enough to get Abbie to thrust back against him, crying out as she came. She locked her heels behind his back, keeping him within her as he came not longer after. 

They collapsed, breathless, onto the blankets. Abbie still wouldn’t break the silence, but she grabbed one of his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers. He wrapped his body around hers once more, and made sure she was entirely covered by the blankets. 

He couldn’t see her face from where he lay next to her, but she smiled anyway.

Outside the world was quiet, the abominable snowman long since forgotten.“It’s Christmas, I think,” she whispered. 

“Sleep, Abigail,” Ichabod said. 

She fell asleep again to the sound of her name on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> So I was supposed to post this last Christmas, but life happened, and this idea has just been bouncing around in my brain for 9 months. Oops. Enjoy my Christmas-in-September fic. 
> 
> A very special thank you to jacksqueen16 for being my cheerleader in all things Ichabbie and for the beta.


End file.
